


Oh, Fuck, a Math Question

by my99centdreams



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my99centdreams/pseuds/my99centdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High School AU. Frank likes pretty things, like the boy who sits in front of him in math, the one who always draws grotesquely beautiful pictures of gory girls and Romero worthy zombies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Fuck, a Math Question

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Oh, Fuck, a Math Question](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5857606) by [vagueoutlines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vagueoutlines/pseuds/vagueoutlines)



> Constructive criticism greatly appreciated!

In the fall, Frank thinks about shitty remakes of classics (there can only be one _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ , okay?), Epiphone Les Pauls (specifically the white one he’s been trying to get his mom to buy for him for months), and how in the fall everyone starts giving up and by the time winter’s here everyone’s sad. Frank doesn’t get it. He loves the fall, mostly because his birthday’s in October, but also because of the trees. His teachers always catch him staring out the window during class, watching the leaves swirl listlessly in the cool winds, pretty red, brown, and yellow blurs of color. Frank likes pretty things, like the boy who sits in front of him in math, the one who always draws grotesquely beautiful pictures of gory girls and Romero worthy zombies. And every day Frank waits for his bitter math teacher to call on Gerard when the fucker knows he’s not paying attention and every day Gerard will slouch down in his seat, try to disappear (Frank figured out that wouldn’t work sometime in the sixth grade), and Frank will lean forward and mumble the answer, low enough so no one but Gerard can hear, even though he knows whatever he says isn’t right.

Gerard never manages to completely hear what Frank says, which is maybe a good thing since Frank hasn’t had a clue about anything math related in years, so he’ll mutter something like, “Uh, the one with both x’s over both y’s?” Frank knows it’s wrong because that was what they were learning last week, Midpoint and Distance formulas, if he remembers correctly. Their teacher will always sigh and turn towards the rest of the class and Gerard will always turn around and look at Frank, not angry or anything just sort of defeated ( _it’s because he gives up_ , a voice inside Frank’s head whispers) before he smiles and thanks Frank. Frank will always blush because he’s like, such a fucking loser who gets flustered over the simplest encounters. He doesn’t get embarrassed over it though, because when Frank smiles back Gerard’s cheeks also flush pink and he turns around so fast Frank’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.

*

In the winter, Frank thinks about how much money he can make if he shovels driveways for five bucks a pop (and whether or not pneumonia is worth the money), how to get Hambone to drive him to shows when there’s black ice all over the damn place, and if Gerard likes Black Flag. He doesn’t think it’s that much of a stretch: Gerard wears black, _all_ black, and drinks a shitload of black coffee (he actually draws coffee comics when he’s tired of struggling over the same piece) why wouldn’t he like Black Flag, too? Sometimes Frank sits there biting his tongue until he can taste blood just to stop himself from saying something stupid like: “Hi, I’m the one who always gives you the wrong answers and makes you blush and we don’t really know each other that well, but, uh, you’re every kind of beautiful there is.” He’d mean it though, if it ever did slip out. From the chipped black nail polish to the greasy black hair and green eyes, Frank wants it all.

Frank spends the better part of two weeks coughing up his left lung while trying to keep down the tomato soup and toast his mom feeds him in his room, which will be quarantined the second he gets better. Blizzards come early this year so Frank props a few pillows up behind him, digs out a flashlight and some spare batteries, and sets to reading whatever books he never got to. He reads Stephen King novels until it’s hard for him to sleep at night and when his mom gets tired of hearing him throw a bouncy ball from one side of the room to the other she comes home with more books. The first one he picks up is _The Catcher in the Rye_ and Frank falls in love with it right then and there. When he does finally go back to school he brings his new favorite book with him to reread.

“Oh, shit, dude.” he hears when he’s in the middle of turning the page, he figures it’s the basic school bullshit and ignores it until- “I fucking love that book.”

Frank’s head snaps up. When he sees who’s talking to him he swallows whatever spit that managed to stay in his now dry as fuck mouth while the voice in his head screams at him to not fuck this up. “Me too! My mom got it for me for when I was sick. I’ve already read it twice, but it’s like I can’t get enough.”

Gerard nods enthusiastically and smiles wide. “Holden tells it like it is, man. I was wondering where you were; how sick were you?”

Oh. Gerard was _wondering_ about him. Frank could get used to that. “Uh, like warning stages of the zombie virus. It was pretty bad.”

Gerard gives him a sympathetic look before laughing, really bright and loud, and Frank grins back at him. “I’m glad you’re not a zombie, Frank. I need all the help I can get in this shithole.”

“Yeah… I don’t really think I’m much help what with me giving you the wrong answers every time.” Frank fidgets with his book and thanks whatever’s making his teacher so late.

Gerard simply flaps his hand as an answer as if dismissing the very thought of Frank being wrong and Frank can’t help himself anymore.

“Do you like Black Flag?”

Gerard stares at him for a couple of seconds before breaking into an even bigger smile. “Do I fucking like Black Flag?” he scoffs, “I fucking _love_ them.”

 

*

                In the spring, Frank thinks about the red indentation marks that line Gerard’s hipbones when he peels off his jeans and how he wants to trace them with his tongue, how to convince Gerard that come stained sheets need to go in the wash _immediately_ , and where to find those charcoals Gerard has been talking his ear off about for the past two months for his birthday. Frank doesn’t really know when it all happened, he thinks it was somewhere in between swapping comic books and making out during Dawn of the Dead reruns. Or, maybe it was when Gerard said, “You make me happy, Frankie, that’s all there is to it.” And Frank’s heart swelled to the size of this-is-my-fucking-boyfriend-be-jealous. Frank pins Gerard up against the wall outside of the classroom and kisses him, real slow and deep and _hungry_. He can taste Newports and the coffee that Gerard bribes his art teacher to give him every day and something sweet, something distinctly _Gerard_.

                Gerard’s lips are soft and he keeps letting out these little breathy noises into Frank’s mouth that are kind of similar to the one’s Frank’s making but also completely different in the way that they drive Frank insane with _need_.

“Oh.” Gerard breathes when Frank finally pulls back to let them get some much needed air.

“There’s a show tonight,” Frank slides his hands down to rest on Gerard’s hips, he really loves Gerard’s hips, loves how soft they are. “Do you wanna go?”

“Sure. Mikey was telling me about it a couple of days ago; I promised I’d drive him.”

“Cool,” And it is, because Mikey is one of the coolest dudes Frank knows… Once he figured out the secret to deciphering his non-expressions and complicated eyebrow movements. “You do the homework?”

Gerard blushes and drags Frank into the classroom as the bell rings. “No, you know. I was… busy.”

Frank snorts. “Busy doing what? Drawing me?”

Gerard blushes an even darker shade of red and hurriedly sits down facing towards the front of the room. Frank, of course, cracks up. “Oh my god! You were drawing me! Was I naked?”

“ _Frank!_ ” Gerard hisses, only turning around halfway. He has this weird rule where Frank’s not allowed to mention anything sex related during school hours. Frank has this weird rule where he doesn’t follow _any_ of Gerard’s rules because most of them are bullshit to begin with.

“Did you draw me on a couch, like in _Titanic_? Did you _ruin_ my chance at having my own _Titanic_ scene, Gerard?” Frank mocks being upset which Gerard _always_ falls for, this time is no different.

“No,” he whispers, “I didn’t. Frank, you can come over and we- oh, you _shithead_.” Frank leans forward and presses a kiss to the back of Gerard’s neck before ripping a piece of paper out of his notebook.

“You totally love me, don’t even lie.”

“Yeah,” Gerard turns, sighs loudly, winks really cheesily, and then smiles, tiny teeth on full display. “I totally love you.”


End file.
